


In the Name of the Fathers, the Son, and the Holy Godparents

by tryslora



Category: New Normal
Genre: Catholicism, Confession, F/M, First Communion, Gen, M/M, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 10:18:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The time has come for First Communion for David and Bryan's son! And he is sure he'll get through it, with the help of his amazing non-traditional wonderfully unique family, and his incredible godparents, most especially Shania.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Name of the Fathers, the Son, and the Holy Godparents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wintercreek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercreek/gifts).



> Dear Wintercreek, when I received my assignment, I might have squealed, just a bit. I love this show, and I have always loved stories that explore faith (and faith vs. doctrine). This may be the only fandom I could write for where my family actually got involved! I had a great time working on this story, and I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Sadly, I do not own the characters or world of The New Normal, but man, is it awesome or what to use it as a playground?

Bobby touches his head and his heart in quick, light succession, then each of his shoulders in turn. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. This is my first confession.” Bobby sits in one side of the confessional, absolutely aware of the priest on the other side of the screen. Bobby’s hands are clasped tightly together, resting on his knees as his legs jiggle. In all his eight years, he has never had an easy time sitting still. And right now the tie feels tight around his throat and the jacket is hot (Dad was right, maybe he should’ve gone without the suit jacket) and his palms are sweaty.

He doesn’t know why he’s nervous. It’s First Communion. It’s not like he’s thirteen and trying not to mess up his pronunciation as he reads from the Torah. All he has to do is confess his sins today, do his penance, and tomorrow he gets married to God.

Only not. It seems awfully complicated to Bobby, and perhaps a little confused inside his head.

“So, what kind of sins are we talking about?” 

Bobby smiles. He likes Father Michael. He doesn’t seem stuffy, even if he isn’t as fun as Dad or Papa. On the other hand, he doesn’t give Bobby trouble about his dads, either. 

“Well, I wanted to hit Lacey Danielson yesterday because she said something mean. And I envied Jordan’s jacket. I want one, but Dad says it’s déclassé and bourgeois and I really ought to want something else. I forgot to say sorry when I broke Patrick’s nose. In my defense, it wasn’t _my_ fault that Patrick’s a horrible receiver. My pass was dead on! Oh, and I fought with Dad because I wanted a suit jacket for First Communion but is it really a sin when I just wanted to look my best for God?”

Father Michael chuckles. “It is good to want to please God, but I think he cares more for what is in your heart, not how you look. But no, it’s not wrong to want to look your best for him today. It is, however, wrong to argue with your father. _Honor your father and your father_ ,” he says, replacing the well known fourth commandment with corrected words that make Bobby smile.

His expression sobers quickly. “Do I have to do penance? It can’t be terribly long. I have to be done before it’s time for Mass.”

“I think you’ll be done in time. Two Our Fathers and a Hail Mary ought to suffice for today.” Father Michael moves, and Bobby can see the shadow of him through the screen. “Do you give Contrition for your sins?”

There was a piece of paper they were given during religion class while preparing for First Communion, but Bobby can’t remember a thing that was on it. So he goes off script. “Please tell God that I’m sorry for thinking bad thoughts and for doing bad things. I’m very sorry, and I’d really rather that I don’t end up in Hell someday. I promise to do my penance, and I promise to confess regularly. Oh, and if you get the chance, could you ask him if he minds that I’m also Jewish? I don’t want him getting confused when I do my Bar Mitzvah and then come back for Confirmation. I just really want him to know he’s loved on all counts, and well, it makes my dads happy.”

Father Michael can’t be laughing, can he? Bobby twists his hands together, trying to be really, truly, _very_ contrite, just in case God is actually listening at this moment.

“I’m sure God knows and is okay with it all,” Father Michael says. He leans a bit closer to the screen and whispers, “God just wants you to have faith in his existence, and to live to become the best person that you can. Being Jewish or Catholic? That’s for your family, and for your heart. Do what feels right, and do right by others, and I think you’ll be just fine.”

He sits back straight, and his voice is solemn. “Robert Hermes Christopher Murray-Collins, give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.”

Bobby smiles in relief that he hasn’t somehow transgressed again, because how would he confess to something he’d done wrong in the confessional? “God is merciful forever,” he says, hoping those were the right words and suspecting they aren’t.

He emerges from the confessional and sees his classmates in two clumps. One set is a nervous, bouncing line of boys in suits and girls in white dresses, waiting anxiously for their turn. The others are either kneeling in pews murmuring softly, or sitting quietly in reflection.

It’s like something changed in there, and Bobby thinks that maybe this really is a little bit like growing up.

#

“Honey, you look _fine_.”

Bobby winces slightly, because he’s pretty sure everyone in the church can hear Rocky. Not that he doesn’t love Rocky. In fact, he absolutely _adores_ Rocky. But he doesn’t look fine, not right now, and if Dad doesn’t get here soon to help fix this mess, he’s going to end up looking absolutely ridiculous. “Where’s Dad?” he asks, hopping from one foot to the other.

“Do you have to pee?” Shania catches his shoulders and stops his jitters. She frowns down at him through her oval glasses (red frames with little flecks of gold in it that Bobby helped pick out when she wanted new ones for her senior year of high school). “Nerves can do that, you know. I think I went three times before we opened the curtain for _The Sound of Music_.”

“It’s not that.” Bobby manages to stay still, bouncing just a bit on his toes. “It’s just… where are my dads? It’s almost time for Mass, and I’m all confessed and innocent and everything, and they need to be here. And I look _awful_ because Maggie Delaney spilled her grape juice down my front.”

“Honey, I’ve seen you covered head to toe in mud, and you’re worried about a little purple stain?” Rocky rolls her eyes. “If God can’t take you with a bit of grape juice on your shirt, then he’s not the forgiving God I know him to be. He’ll see past it. If he’s going to strike you down, it’ll be over something much worse than that.”

Bobby isn’t sure. The girls are all wearing _white_ , like brides, which brings up a whole different problem in his head that he hasn’t been able to put into words yet. Papa wouldn’t get it, being Jewish and all, and he’s not ready to talk about this with Dad yet. He has a feeling that talking about it with Father Michael would get him a very long involved discussion of some finer point of the Bible that’s supposed to mean something and mostly just makes his head swim.

Really, when it comes down to it, there’s only one choice for things like this.

He looks at Shania, who is now fussing with the collar of his suit jacket. “Can I maybe ask you something?” he whispers. “Like, privately?”

She nods solemnly and offers her hand, which he takes. He leads her around the corner of the church, knowing Rocky will stay at the front, waiting for his dads when they pull up. But this spot seems to be mostly safe and away from everyone else.

“It’s funny, isn’t it, how we’re here and Bryan and David aren’t?” Shania says. “They’re your dads, but we’re your spiritual advisors.” She smiles then, and it’s that silly smile that Bobby has known his entire life. Shania is partly a big sister, partly his godmother, and partly the most important female influence on his young life.

He hugs her before saying anything else, relaxing slightly when her arms go around him to hug him back.

“So, what’s the problem?” Shania asks. “I do hope you’re not reconsidering. Bryan would be terribly disappointed if you decided to go with Judaism for your only religion.”

“Oh, no, no, I’m not rethinking it.” Bobby shakes his head emphatically. “Well, not entirely. I mean, I’m a Catholic Buddhist Agnostic Jew, right? If God hasn’t struck me down over that already, well then, I’m pretty sure he’s listening. It’s just… I’m trying to figure out what First Communion actually _means_.”

He waits, because he knows Shania will take this seriously. She always does. They’ve talked about Buddha and God and Yahweh and everything else they could think of. Shania has made sure he knows all about how everyone worships so that he can pick his own way. But when it comes to trying to be who his dads want him to be, he has to do things someone else’s way, too.

It seems overly complicated, but he likes seeing that funny look in his dad’s eye when he talks about Church and how cool Father Michael is.

Shania crouches, leaning back on her heels and balancing comfortably and Bobby mimics her position. They aren’t eye to eye, but they’re close enough.

“Well, it means taking God inside of you, doesn’t it?” Shania says. “The Eucharist is about how it becomes Christ’s body and blood, so you share in him and in his sacrifice. Which I always thought sounded rather gross, and a little cannibalistic. I prefer the non-Catholic view that it’s just a symbolic gesture, remembering the Last Supper, but if Catholics want to actually eat and imbibe God, I’m not going to stop you from doing that. It’s an important part of your faith.”

“But what about the marriage?” Bobby hisses the words out before he can stop himself, before he gets too scared to ask. “The girls are wearing _wedding veils_.”

Shania turns slightly, watching one of Bobby’s classmates race down the sidewalk to greet family, an inelegant rush of satins and lace. She pushes her glasses down slightly, then nudges them back up on her nose. “Not all of them are. You’re not marrying God, Bobby. You’re just eating him.” Her head tilts, a frown wrinkling her nose. “That’s been bothering you?”

“God’s a boy,” Bobby says. He catches his lip in his teeth, gaze dropping to stare at the grass beneath their feet. “And I kind of have a secret that I haven’t told Dad or Papa yet.”

“What’s that?”

“I like girls.” It’s a hushed whisper, as if somehow his dads will hear it. And it isn’t that Bobby thinks it’s _wrong_ to do things one way or the other. After all, Shania’s had boyfriends and girlfriends, and Goldie’s married to Clint and his dads are married to each other. But… Bobby doesn’t want to _disappoint_ anyone. And it’s so _hard_ sometimes to be perfect, what with memorizing Catholic doctrine and learning Hebrew and knowing _exactly_ the perfect suit to pick and being able to pick off a pass before the receiver does. But Bobby _tries_ and he’s generally pretty good at it.

Except this. He can be fashionable like Dad and he can be into sports like Papa, but he can’t be gay like either of them.

And it hurts because all he wants is to be like them.

“So?”

Bobby blinks at Shania. “So… what?”

“So you’re not gay. You’re _eight_ , Bobby. You might change your mind again. Or you might not.” Shania shrugs. “I was almost pretend married to a cheating bastard when I was only a year older than you are now.”

“I like your wedding dress from then,” Bobby tells her.

She smiles. “So do I. I might have Mother make me one like it when I get married for real. Are you okay now with the whole Communion thing?”

It’s still overwhelming, and there’s a part of Bobby who thinks that even if it’s not marrying _God_ , it’s about marrying the _church_ and he still has questions about his odd set of religions. But he’s mostly okay, and he throws his arms around Shania, kissing her soundly on the cheek before he lets go.

When he steps back, he spots the people he’s been waiting for and he forgets about his nicely shined shoes, his carefully creased slacks, and even the grape juice stain as he hurtles towards them, managing to wrap his arms around them to hug both his dads at once.

#

There isn’t time to talk before Bobby has to watch his dads and Rocky and Shania and Goldie and Clint and not-Grandma Jane all go sit in a pew while he lines up neatly with the other boys and girls to sit in their specially decorated pews.

This is the boring part of the whole thing, where Father Michael talks about what they are doing here and goes through the readings, and Bobby’s mind and gaze both wander.

He stares at the pew and sees Dad subtly touching a handkerchief to his eye. Papa reaches over to take his hand, and they stay like that, hands clasped while Dad beams at the priest.

_Hey, God?_

Bobby isn’t sure God is always listening, but he figures this is an important moment, and God must have his eye on all of them, right?

_So, I know you hear from my dad sometimes, and I hope you’re not insulted that you don’t hear from my papa. Or maybe you’re just listening to him in temple instead. It’s complicated, I know. But really, I just want you to look at them. Do you see them over there? Papa doesn’t usually come with us to church, and Dad doesn’t go to temple. Not that we go every week to either of them. Rocky does. But we mostly save church and temple for the holidays, because otherwise I might never have time to do anything else, and Papa would be crushed if I couldn’t play football and can you imagine Dad without shopping?_

_Oh right. I had a point._

_They’re holding hands. And they’re almost in the front row, so I know Father Michael can see them. And he’s cool, for a priest. He knows Dad’s married to Papa, but he never says anything bad about them. But I just wanted to make sure of something, okay?_

_Please let Dad know that you still love him. Dad and Father Michael say it isn’t that you don’t love people who are gay, but that the church is scared of them. They say there is a difference between faith and doctrine, which I’m not sure I understand exactly, but I’m pretty sure it boils down to you love Dad even if the Pope says you don’t._

_And I’m okay with that._

_But sometimes I think Dad wonders, and he’s Catholic and he says that once you’re raised Catholic you really can’t not be Catholic any more, even when the church turns its back on you. Which is why we’re here, really, because he still believes so very much in you and in all the cool things that he did growing up to show he believed in you._

_So if you can, maybe you could show you believe in him too._

_Thank you._

_In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen._

Bobby stands when the rest of his row stands, his hands clasped in front of him. They have been told how to walk down the aisle and he does so, his hands held out for the wafer that he places on his tongue. It is dry, not chewy like he’d thought flesh would be. When he is offered the wine, he takes that too. He doesn’t have to, but he wants the whole experience. If he’s going to take God into his body, he’s going to do it _right_.

He has to try not to make a face afterwards. Christ’s blood is _bitter_.

Bobby has had wine before, just little sips to know what it tastes like at family holidays. And that is _not_ wine. It is most _definitely_ not wine. Dad would be _horrified_ to call it wine (and Dad takes Communion so Bobby _knows_ he has tasted it). Therefore it must truly be blood, which he’d thought would be salty and sort of metallic, but it isn’t.

Still, it dissolves the body on his tongue and he swallows, washing it all down.

And it’s done.

Bobby feels warmth spreading through him, and he glances up to see the sun shining through the brilliantly colored stained glass. It reflects in a rainbow over his family’s pew just as Shania turns to smile at him. She gives him a thumbs up, and even though Bobby is supposed to be solemn and thinking faithful thoughts, he returns it with a quick grin.

He doesn’t _feel_ solemn at all. Bobby feels like he could fly, like he is filled with God’s grace and perfect energy. He kneels in the pew with everyone else, and he wonders how they are all staying stuck to the ground.

Faith is good, he decides.

Thinking of the rainbow, he starts to smile because _God answered_. He whispers, “Thank you. Amen.”

#

Dad believes that everything is a reason for a party, and First Communion is even more of a reason than anything else. Bobby can’t deny that he has to agree that this is a great plan. After all, it involves cake, and cake is awesome.

It is also time for family, and Bobby thinks this is good too. Clint is rubbing Goldie’s feet (she says they ache when she’s pregnant and thinks she ought to be used to it after two babies but no, she still isn’t). Not-Grandma Jane is drinking with Dad and Rocky’s talking to Clint and Goldie and it gives Bobby a chance to sit down and just be quiet.

He doesn’t feel like he could fly anymore, but he still feels good. Light. Fluffy-headed. He’s not ready to try to explain it to Papa, because he’s not sure if Jewish people have something similar. And he has a feeling it will stop being like this when he gets to open presents because gifts are materialistic and not really very spiritual at all.

“How was it?” Shania sits down next to Bobby and holds out a box.

He takes it, touching the ribbon on it, but doesn’t rip into it. This isn’t Christmas, after all.

“Weird,” he says. “But nice. I won’t mind doing it again, although maybe I won’t drink the blood next time. They said we don’t have to until we’re Confirmed.”

“I don’t like the wine at our church either,” Shania says, voice low and a smile on her face. “It’s bitter. But it makes Mother feel better when I do it. And Nana. I think Nana worries sometimes that I’m going to forget about God because I’m learning about other religions.”

“Why would she think that?” Bobby’s eyes go wide. “God is everywhere and in all the religions. It’s kind of difficult to forget Him when he’s all around us.”

“Or Her,” Shania points out. “I’d say _or It_ but I think it would be rude to call the supreme deity an It. We need a better pronoun for gender-neutral beings. You’d think that religious people would be _more_ aware of this, not less, wouldn’t you?” She shakes her head, and Bobby can almost hear the unsaid _tsk-tsk_ in the motion.

“I’m glad I took Communion and Confession,” Bobby says slowly. “And in a few years, I’ll have my Bar Mitzvah and I’ll be a man in the Jewish faith, then I’ll have Confirmation for Catholicism after that. God has to know I love him and that I believe in him.”

“And your dads know you love them, too.”

A slow grin starts, because that’s exactly it. Shania always does know what to say.

Bobby tilts until he’s leaning against her, and she puts her arm around his shoulder. He’s going to be bigger than her someday, he realizes. But he’ll never be wiser, not ever. In Bobby’s eyes, no one could be wiser than Shania.

“Are you going to open it?” Shania nudges him, and he remembers the box.

He picks at the wrapping paper, neatly undoing the tape and unfolding the paper from around the box. He sets it aside to put into his memory box in a bundle with all the other wrapping paper from this memorable occasion. As he takes the lid off the box, he sees a bookmark with one word, COEXIST, written in symbols from all the religions he can think of, and maybe a few he doesn’t recognize.

“I know it’s your First Communion,” Shania says, “but since you’re a student of all different religions, it didn’t seem right to just celebrate your Catholic right of passage. There are books in your room. A Bible, and a Tanakh, and a few others that we haven’t read yet together. I thought we could start reading them at night.”

Bobby touches the two symbols that are closest to his heart—the Star of David, and the cross—and smiles as he glances at his dads. “That sounds awesome,” he says. He throws his arms around her, hugging her hard and kissing her on the cheek.

Shania offers him a hand. “Bryan said to come get you for cake,” she tells him. “I told him you were communing with God, and he said that when you’re done communing, there’s still cake. And presents. Because every holiday has presents.”

Bobby comes to his feet with her, and looks up at her, expression solemn. “Shania, if I told you that God blessed our family during the service—gave me a real, true _sign_ that he loves us, even though we’re all so different and my dads love each other—would you believe me?” He remembers that rainbow falling across the people he loves and knows that is something he will never, ever forget.

“Of course.” She squeezes his hand. “You and your dad go to church and lightning hasn’t struck yet, so why shouldn’t God tell you he loves you? God knows that our family is amazing. Non-traditional, and probably kind of unique, but definitely amazing.”

Two fathers, one not-mother and her husband, an amazing godmother and almost sister, another godmother, and a crotchety not-Grandma to fill in the spaces when his other grandparents are not around… Bobby loves them all. “Yeah,” he grins. “We definitely are.”

He goes to have cake then, and presents, and hug every single person in his family. Today he has taken God inside of him, and he knows he still has so much more to look forward to, and so much of God’s love to feel and give. So he’s going to start right here, with his family. His amazing, incredible, perfectly _normal_ family.


End file.
